Seeing The World
by An outsider looking in
Summary: Brigitte is a girl from France, sheltered from the world her whole life. When whispers of war are heard her family moves to Tulsa. She's forced to grow up almost in an instant, away from her father land. She's angry, confused, and upset that she can not understand American customs. Will she be able to transistion into this new life or will it break her?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! This is my first try at an OC, so please flame/Tell me how awful it may be. :3**

_20 May 1965_

My name is Brigitte Durand. I am the daughter of Joseph and Madeleine Durand. We are from the French countryside. But, no more. We are going to some place called America, mother and father have heard faint whispers of something called "etait", I know not what it means. But it sounds bad. Father decided to bring us over to America in fear of this "etait". It was both difficult and not for me to leave my home country, you see I've never had true friends; I always had a nanny to teach me, and never attended boarding school. Therefore, I had no true friends to say farewell to, but having spent nearly a week on this boat going to a new place is less than appealing to me. Father says we will no longer have a nanny nor will we be as wealthy as we were in France, much of our wealth had to be put toward boarding passes for the boat, and the passeport. It saddens and intrigues me, a new life. Father says we will soon be in America, less than two days. He calls me for dinner now. Adieu pour aujourd'hui, mon ami!

_22 May 1965_

I write this from a motor car, which will be taking us to our new home. This America is so strange, I long for France, for normality. When our boat neared the main land, there was a woman, I swear… The woman was shaped out of green rock! It was so strange, and frightening! We landed on a small land, and were taken into a building; they separated Mama and Father from me, I almost wept as they took me into another room. The room was dark and cold, other children were in the room also, although none dressed the way I did, I wore a navy skirt down to my knees, and a blouse that was tucked in at the waist, it was the same thing I wore practically every day of my life! As did Mama and Mama's friends, these people were so strange, one boy wore a circular hat on his head, and one girls' hair was fair and long in two braids, such strange happenings. A nurse finally came to me, and took me into another room.

"Do you speak English?" She asked, dully, her voice carrying a slight accent.  
"A little." I responded.

"French, lovely, do you have your papers?" She questioned, I handed over the papers I had. "Brigitte, a lovely name, your papers seem to be in order. Welcome to America." I was lead out to the large room where I had began.

Mama and Father were there, I ran to them and hugged them. And then we followed a large group of people outside, and there I saw buildings larger than I had ever seen. We boarded a boat which took us to the large buildings. I watched wide eyed and began speaking to Father in French, much to his displeasure. When we got off the boat, I saw that America was much different than any other place I had been. And my heart panged for home. But, Father soon ushered me and Mama into a motor car. Here we have been since, Father says we are going to somewhere called "Tulsa". I wonder where our clothes will come from. We each only have one bag, with strictly clothing. But even so, the clothes will last no longer than a month.

The sun is falling past the sky now, dear friend, and that means that it is time for me to rest my tired eyes. Adieu pour aujourd'hui, mon ami!

_27 May 1965_

I have arrived in this place they call Tulsa, and it is beyond warm, I do not know the word in English for it, but the French word is "chaud". As we entered the town we passed very large houses, very nice house. And then we passed, less nice houses. We live in a house that is in between the two types of houses. The house has a room for me, a room for Mama and Father, a room for social, a room for cooking, a room for eating, and a room for relieving our bladder. Today is Saturday, tomorrow Mama, Father and I will go to church. Father says Monday I will go to ecole for the first time in my life! I will be in the "High School". I'm not sure what that means, but I am excited none the less.

_28 May 1965_

We attended Sunday service today, just as the good lord says to do. I still marveled at the different clothings people wore. I never once ever thought about what I should wear, as my outfits are all the same, and chosen by Mama or nanny. But these people must not sleep deciding what they wear! I sang in English for the first time, and then we sat for service. But in the middle of the service, a loud bang was heard at the back of the room! We all turned to see five boys being loud, and then one had the gall to wave! They disturb the Sabbath and then wave! Oh the Americans!

When we arrived home Father called me into his study, and said these words, much to my shock in French, I will try in translate it:

"My daughter, Brigitte, for so long I have sheltered you in my home. For so long you have lacked society outside of our small world in France and now my darling, you are being forced to see the world for what it is. I have trained you right in the Lord; I expect your choices and path will be straight. But, if I find the path to curve along the way, I will not hesitate to use the rod on you. Not out of hatred but out of love my darling, only love."

He then kissed my forehead and dismissed me. I know not what would curve my path, but I pray I never find it.

**There are some grammar mistakes to make the story seem realistic, along with French words. **


	2. Chapter 2

**To clear something up: I was told the story needed more emotion. While I can understand that, the first chapter's intent was to be a prologue. Introducing her to America, the idea of public school, and to writing in the journal, and writing in English. **

_29 May 1965_

Starting school this late in the year, or so they are saying, seems a bit strange. It angers me that I am getting so little taste of this new life, and then so cruelly it will be yanked away. I swear I hate Father… I may not hate him, but I am extremely cross with him.

Today was, if you did not notice, my first day on this "High School". When I went into the attendance office I was frightened, no, I was beyond frightened. I was terrified. A lady who wore, of all things, cats on her sweater gave me something she called a "schedule". It said where I would be, and when I would be there. I feel much like an animal, not having the freedom that I used to have of my education. My books were quiet heavy, and I did not understand what a "locker" was. The sheer stupidity and embarrassment I felt knowing nothing of the school or the way it worked pressed on me like a ton.

Finally, the woman sensed my confusion and called for a boy, who I might add is quite attractive to guide me through my first day of school. It was both exciting and terrifying. The halls were loud; the lockers I found out are locked metal squares to hold my books (What strange thing, to worry that my books might be stolen if I did not lock them in this box… France never did such things.)

English class was extremely embarrassing, I was forced to stand at the front of the class and present myself, "My name is Brigitte. I am from the land of France."

The teacher then said, "Brigitte, while I applaud you can already speak our language, you're sentence was spoken incorrectly. At least for the grade level you are at, you would say "My name is Brigitte and I am from the land of France. The conjunction and makes the sentence flow much easier."

My face burned with shame and confusion, but I nodded as if I understood.

As the day went on, I learned more about my handler. His name is Randy, he's student council president. He has a little sister named Virginia, and a dog named Gus. He played on something called a "Football team." And he has a steady, shame of shame I had thought when I first heard. I was saddened that I might not have a chance with this boy they call Randy, such a strange name, but that all changed with the last hour of the day.

I walked into the classroom, Randy leaving me at the door. I was relieved that soon I would be home in the comfort of Mama, and the warmth of my bed. This class was a science of sorts, called Chemistry. We were to be doing a lab today, partners assigned to us. I was assigned to a boy named Steve Randle, on station three.

This boy looked… Dangerous. His hair was slicked back and looked oily to the touch; he wore a shirt that said "DX" on it. But, that was not what made him look dangerous. It was his eyes, cold dark circles full of hate. I felt like I should tell the instructor I wasn't comfortable working with Mr. Randle, but something him drew him near me, and so I didn't. His presence feels cold and indifferent, he barely spoke to me. But, just being near him made my heart flutter and my pulse pound. I don't know about this Steve Randle, but I feel he may be the one to curve my path, if anyone.

Dear friend, I feel weak and faint from the long day I had. I think I felt every emotion today that a human can possibly feel. And So, I retire for the night.

_30 May 1965_

The school day went much the same, uneventful in a way. Aside from the confusion and stupidity of the school.

But, that's not what I write to you about, friend. No, I write to you about my encounter outside of school walls with Mr. Steve Randle.

Mother had asked me soon after I had returned from school to walk to something called a gas station and to get milk, she gave me money and direction, and confused I set off. Soon I saw the sign for this so called gas station, it read "DX" (At the time, I didn't think about his shirt of course, but looking back on yesterday's entry it makes sense now.) I walked into the gas station and went to a section labeled "Milk". Of course, all of this was foreign to me in France our groceries were delivered by a very kind man named Peter. The milk was behind a glass door with a handle, I pulled on the handle and the door opened, it was cool inside as if by magic. I took a carton from the magic cold box and made my way up to where people were. A golden haired boy was at the counter, he reminded me of Mr. Randle, but in a less menacing way and in a way he reminded me of a person from the picture shows.

"Excuse me, but how do I pay for this?" I asked, shame burning my cheeks again.

"I'll ring it up for you, Miss." He said, taking the milk and flashing me a grin. "That'll be one dollar and seventy five cents."

I looked at the paper and coins in my hands confused, unsure of what to give him, but too embraced to ask.

And then he came in, "What's the hold up, you've been staring at that money for five minutes?" He asked, clearly angry.

"I don't know what a dollar or a seventy five cent piece looks like." I said, shamefully.

He grabbed the money from my hand, and gave the correct amount to the other boy. He handed the rest back to me. I took the milk, ready to leave another confusing American custom behind. When a girl burst through the door. She ran to Mr. Randle, wrapping her arms around his neck, their tongues entangled.

It was in that moment that my heart felt crushed, my stomach weak, and my eyes moist. I've never experienced this feeling before, but I believe I read it in one of my school books once, it was called envy from love. Or something of the sort.

I arrived home as if nothing happened, and now I sit in my room with you old friend.

I feel upset and angered by this new world that I live in, I feel so confused and shameful all the time. Constantly looked down upon for no particular reason, aside from the fact that I came from another world than this one. Is that suddenly a crime against nature? Father told me that America was open to all that I would fit in great! But I do not, I do not belong her. I long for France, for familiarity. But, there is only one piece, one small piece smuggled in my suitcase. A blank for an infant, it had been mine knitted by Gran, who has long since passed. I long for the time when I was a child with no care in the world, other than to sleep under this warm, tiny blanket.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello dear friends, my computer was broken so I couldn't write. *Insert Sad Panda Picture*. But, I have returned and I want to thank you to those who have decided to follow/review my story. I greatly appreciate it.**

_May 31, 1965_

Today was the last day of lessons for Americans, and I question my father's judgment for forcing me to go to school for all of three days. I am beginning to adjust to American customs, or as much as I can for having been here only five days. Like you see, I haven't written the date as I usually would. Americans right it month day, year. And I have discovered there is a battle of sorts that goes on between the greased haired boys like Mr. Randle, and the clean haired boys like Randy. My heart flies today my dear friend.

As I was walking down the hall to start the walk home, I heard shouting. So of course I turned around, and I saw Randy with another girl… Very pretty girl and they were arguing quite strongly. And well, the next thing I knew I was in Randy's motor car and he was driving me home! Oh, how scandalous my dear friend. He explained that she was his now former girlfriend do to the fact that she was a "Prudent Bitch". I have no idea what that means dear friend, but he asked me to go to frozen gelato tomorrow. And of course I said yes! Father will be so proud; I am becoming an American girl!

Mama decided to take me for a new outfit; she said her American girl deserved to dress American for her first date. And so we went to a small store on the other side of town and found me the most darling outfit, with a pressed collared white shirt, and a blue sweater to go over it. We decided on a beige skirt that came just past my knee and my traditional Mary Jane's. Oh, how amazing it is to wear collar, bright vibrant color!

I hear Papa's motor car pulling in the drive, oh I must tell him of my date tomorrow!

_June 1, 1965_

I think that Randy may just be the most perfect boy on earth. He arrived at seven o'clock and greeted Father with a firm hand shake. As if he knew to already, he explained that we would go for "ice cream", and then to a "drive in movie." And that he would have me back by midnight at the latest. Father said that was fine and bid us farewell.

He escorted me to my side of the motor car and shut the door for me, oh how lovely that was. And then we drove around town for a bit, it's a small town with not much to do but the back roads of the town show the beauty of Texas. As night and day started to blend together we arrived at what he called an "Ice Cream Parlor." He had friends already waiting and introduced me as his "Little French Girl," which of course made me giggle. We sat and at Ice Cream, which is much better than gelato, and we talked about France and America and clothes and just life. His friends were all kind to me and we planned to meet Bob and Cherry at the drive in later that night.

We talked for a bit more, and then we drove to the Drive In. Oh, it was fun and there was an Elvis movie on! I love Elvis; he is such an inspiration to be different! Randy didn't like him as much, but he seemed genially happy to see me happy, and of course made me all the happier. And so we watched the movie and drank fizzy drinks. He held my hand, which at first made my heart pound without control. But, slowly, I enjoyed the feeling of fingers intertwined together.

Soon, our time came to an end. And at eleven thirty he delivered me onto the porch of my house. He bid me farewell with a good bye kiss on the cheek.

Oh, it was amazing, friend. It was wonderful; at sixteen I finally was kissed! I was kissed! Maybe it was just on the cheek, but it was a kiss. I feel as if maybe I am fitting in. But, only time will tell, only time will tell. Randy didn't mention going out again. But I know he'll ask me again. He loves me and I love him and that is all I know. Dear friend, I think America may just be the place of dreams still.

It is late, and I am tired. So, I lay my head to rest, good night dear friend.


End file.
